


The Rarest Dish in All the Land

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Baking, Christmas Fluff, Cookies, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac's baking Christmas cookies, and Phryne's helping. ...Well, 'helping'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rarest Dish in All the Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiskeyandjack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandjack/gifts).



> Prompt: Super domestic super fluffy Phryne/Mac preparing for Christmas.
> 
> I will state plainly that I don’t understand the regional/cultural differences between cookies and biscuits. I’ve always called this particular recipe a cookie, so that’s how it’s referred to here. The title comes from a Tudor-era Christmas carol called “The Boar’s Head.” It doesn’t quite fit this story, but I couldn’t get the song out of my head today. XD Merry Christmas, tiger. ♥

Phryne hovered over Mac’s shoulder, as always entirely irrespective of personal space. “You forgot to add the sugar.”

“I did not.”

“The recipe says to cream the sugar and the butter together. You’re just stirring a bowl of butter.”

“I’m softening it first. And, I’m sorry, which one of us actually knows their way around a kitchen?” Mac was rewarded with a haughty little snort, which meant she was right. 

“I think you’re being very flippant about these cookies,” Phryne continued. “It’s Concetta’s secret recipe! I had to promise her the moon to get it!”

“You promised her a huge crowd for New Year’s. I like that woman. She drives a good bargain. But it’s not that complicated of a recipe. And besides, I only use recipes in the laboratory.”

“Funny, I seem to remember all of our cooking teachers insisting that the kitchen _is_ a laboratory.”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Funny, all I remember of our cooking classes is you not being present. For any of them.” She swiped a bit of the softened butter from the bowl and reached back to dab it on Phryne’s nose. “ _Now_ I’m ready for the sugar.”

Phryne handed Mac the measure of sugar, then watched critically as Mac beat the two together briskly, her strong surgeon’s hand and wrist gripping the wooden spoon with as much determination as she did a scalpel. “Eggs next. Then baking powder and vanilla.”

“No salt?” Phryne held up the recipe card for Mac’s perusal. “Hmph.”

“ _Why_ would there be salt in Christmas cookies?”

Mac wasn’t in the mood to give Phryne Fisher a lesson in kitchen chemistry. Not that she was in a bad mood – far from it! But letting their conversation detour into a science lesson would take away from the tone of tender loving bickering that they seemed to fall into, when they were alone in the house, and Mac was enjoying that. “Because a little salt makes sweet things taste sweeter,” she said simply, cracking eggs into the bowl. 

“And a lot of salt?” Phryne grinned. 

“Makes them taste terrible, generally.” Mac reached for the flour, and then paused. “Did you just call me salty?”

“Salt of the earth, Mac, darling.”

“Nice save,” Mac snorted. She dumped three cups of flour into the eggy dough and then turned and wrapped her arms around Phryne, pulling the slim elegant woman in for a long, slow, thoroughly sweet kiss. 

“Mmm… the mistletoe’s in the hall, though.”

“To hell with it. As though I needed the excuse of mistletoe.”

While the cookies were in the oven, Mac delegating the task of making the glaze to Phryne. “Are you sure you want to risk it?” she teased. 

“Icing sugar, milk, oil of anise. Pretend you’re mixing explosives.” 

“Well, when you put it like that…” Phryne squinted at the measuring spoons and dropped the milk and anise into the sugar with the utmost care. 

“Perfect. Now just mix it up. That’s the way to your heart,” Mac added with a grin. “Either cosmetics or deadly weapons.”

“Well, a lady must have a hobby.” Phryne held up a finger, dripping with glaze. “Taste test?”

Mac sucked the glaze from her fingertip (making no pretensions to delicacy) and then kissed Phryne thoroughly. “How’s it taste?”

“Delicious,” Phryne purred, with a warm look that said plainly how much she’d like to cover Mac with the glaze and leave the cookies to their own devices. 

_Maybe,_ Mac thought, pulling the cookies from the oven, _if there’s any glaze left over…_

“Oh my god,” moaned Phryne, ten minutes later, after the cookies had cooled enough to be iced. “These are glorious.”

“‘Almost wicked,’ as my old gran would’ve said,” Mac agreed, reaching for her fifth. “Hell, these might not make it to Christmas. _I_ might not make it to Christmas, if this keeps up. I’ll be comprised entirely of butter and anise before the night’s out.”

Phryne coyly snatched the cookie from under Mac’s hand. “So you’ll be squishy, soft and sweet, and something that I adore?”

“Hmph. Also rather spicy and a bit salty, but yes, in a nutshell.”

Mac stole her cookie back and bit into it with a cheeky grin. _Pity we used all the glaze… but I can always make more._


End file.
